Wild at Heart: A Kincaids of Pine Harbour Novel

by Zoe York

  “Is Josh going to be in charge of it?”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Is Catie Berton going to be in charge?”

  That was looking more and more likely. “Would you like that?”

  “Sure.” Their heads disappeared from view.

  “Traitors,” Josh muttered.

  January grinned at him. “Maybe Catie will have you in as a guest speaker.”

  “That’s probably more my speed anyway.”

  August handed Will a beer. “We didn’t invite you over to talk about work.”

  “Except I need to talk to him about something else work related for a minute.” January scooped the final peas into the bowl, then nodded her head toward the dock.

  Will stood up, grabbed her a fresh bottle of beer, and they fell into step side by side. “What’s up?”

  She took a slow sip of her beer, and more than a dozen steps, before answering. “I heard a rumour that you might not be returning in the fall.”

  He jerked to a stop. “It’s not true.”

  “If you’re not happy—”

  “Jan, I swear to you, I haven’t told a soul that. You would be the first to know.”

  She cocked her head to the side, frowning. “Wait. Are you unhappy?”

  He made a face. “More out of my depth and unsure than unhappy. But the rumours are just people observing that and coming to the same conclusion independently.”

  “You didn’t tell the board you want to be moved?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  He couldn’t ask her who was talking about him. That was the line between them as teacher and principal. He was administration, she was staff. They both knew the lines around that. But beneath that professional relationship was a friendship that went back to when they were in diapers.

  “I miss being at an elementary-only school. I don’t think I know how to be the best principal the secondary students need, and sometimes I think I should never have taken the position.”

  “It’s been three years,” she said softly.

  “I thought it was going to get easier each year.”

  “And it hasn’t?”

  He shook his head. If anything, that first year had been the easiest. There had been an excited shine on the community school coming together.

  “Do you want advice, or do you just want to vent?”

  Will wasn’t sure he liked the way January was looking at him. Like she was so sure the answer was the latter, and okay, maybe it was. Maybe that’s what he wanted. But what Will wanted hadn’t gotten him very far lately. “I think I need advice—from a friend.”

  “From my perspective, you’re doing a good job. But if you’re feeling cracks, like it’s more work than it should be to hold everything together, then something has to change. You know the old adage about doing the same thing and expecting different results.”

  “I struggle to connect with the older students.” His chest loosened as he admitted the truth, finally. “I want to go into the new school year with a different approach, absolutely.”

  “Nothing wrong with shaking up your routine. You know that not everybody responds in the same way, and high school kids are different.”

  Which hit at the heart of his insecurity that he wasn't the right principal for the job. “Honestly, I think I should have figured out that different path by now. Maybe I should let the board bring someone else in, someone who has high school experience. Obviously, people are thinking that if the rumour mill started up.”

  “A new principal would be in the same position you are. A high school principal would have the same problems coming to a community school, not knowing what works with the younger grades. And you have done the work. You prepped as well as you could, but there's gonna be some on the job adjustments as well. Maybe you’re at the peak of that adjustment cycle. But part of being a good leader is leading by example. Acknowledging that at different points in our life at different cycles at the beginning of each of these new life cycles. We can be humble, and own that we don't know what we don't know yet. And it's going to take some trial and error before we can confidently lead, so we're going to lean on other people.”

  “You mean you. You’re a high school teacher. You know what you're doing.”

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “Obviously, I’m an excellent resource.”

  He chuckled along with her.

  “Actually, I think, for this I mean the kids—the young adults. Maybe we can give them more autonomy next year.”

  “Like with a proper outside advisor for the business club.”

  January nodded. “Give them real projects, too.”

  Better projects.

  Catie would be perfect for that.

  “Do you want me to take that on?”

  Part of him did. It would be easier to put some distance there. But they were officially into summer holidays now, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to ask January to do school-related work over the summer.

  Even as a favour.

  Besides, if he managed to find the right words, maybe it would lead to him giving Catie a real apology, as she’d rightfully asked for.

  That night, he sent a long overdue email.

  From: Will Kincaid

  To: Catie Berton

  * * *

  Catie,

  My apologies for the delay in this response. The PHCS Business Club would be honoured to welcome you as the next community advisor.

  Sincerely,

  Will

  Chapter Eight

  The nerve of him. The absolute nerve.

  It wasn’t Catie’s style to not reply to emails right away, but there was something about Will that made her want to leave him hanging. She’d reached out about the business club weeks ago. Almost an entire month had gone by, where he’d had plenty of chance to talk about it with her—and where she mentioned it at least once!—and now he replied to her with the assumption that she was still available.

  What if her life had changed fundamentally in that time?

  He sees you regularly, and rescued you on Sunday. He knows your life hasn’t changed even an iota.

  That was beside the point.

  She did like the honoured part. That was a nice touch. But she was still waiting before she replied.

  It wasn’t like he was going to be doing anything with her reply now. School was officially let out, and the teachers had finished their final admin days, too. Tomorrow was Canada Day, the official start of summer, and because it was a Thursday, also a break from search and rescue training. She wouldn’t see Will until next week.

  But that didn’t stop him from being a constant topic of conversation. First, with Sam, who of course she’d hired. Will didn’t believe she would, so she went out of her way to give Sam’s application the fairest of considerations—which she would have done anyway.

  He wasn’t a perfect assistant. No fourteen-year-old would be. But he was funny, caustic in a way she could relate to, and—when he learned she paid twenty dollars an hour—an exceptionally diligent worker.

  The only thing that tripped her up were those moments when he told her what an asshole Will was. Not that he used that word precisely.

  He’d been working for Catie for three days, and talked—complained—about Will at least once each of those days.

  The first time it was an aside about how work was so much more fun than school.

  “After being told non-stop by an authoritarian freak that everything I’m doing is wrong, this is a nice change of pace.”

  Catie had looked at him in alarm. “Who told you that?”

  “Mr. Kincaid.”

  It had been so hard to keep a straight face. Authoritarian freak was a perfect label for Will. That would go in her diary if she had one, underlined and with exclamation marks. But grown-ups needed to have each other’s backs, so she couldn’t let on that she agreed with Sam. Besides, she found it hard to believe that Will had precisely told Sam that everything he did was wrong. That was
n’t Will’s way.

  She moved the conversation along instead of engaging.

  The second time, she was rocking out to a playlist, cutting Sophie Minelli’s hair as her dad Rafe, a local cop, chatted to her about the Main Street closures for the upcoming County Country weekend music festival and the ensuing parking issues, and how that all related to the question of whether to charge for parking. The next song that came on was slightly explicit, so she pulled her phone out of her pocket—which was streaming the music to the Bluetooth speakers—and put on a different album.

  Rafe didn’t say anything, but after they left, Sam asked why she’d changed the song. He’d been rocking out, too.

  “Here’s a business tip. My musical preferences are not more important than making my customers happy. And a dad with a young daughter? He doesn’t want her to hear any spicy language. So if people like that are in the store, I filter what we play. When it’s just grown-ups—”

  Sam’s eyes lit up at the idea that she included him in that, and she modified it a bit. “Or older people, teens and grown-ups, who understand the context of language in entertainment, that’s different.”

  “Now that makes sense.” He smirked. “You could teach Mr. Kincaid a thing or two about context.”

  Oh, shit. Once again, Sam wasn’t wrong, because Catie could teach Will a lot of things about context. But he wasn’t right, either. “Are you talking about swearing in school?”

  Sam flushed. “Not really.”

  “But sort of really?” She gave him her sternest look, which wasn’t really that stern at all. “Don’t take what I said about context out of context, speaking of context. School is a swear-free zone, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. She liked a good eye-roll, but not when it was aimed at her.

  So she waited him out.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Yes, you’re right.”

  She crossed to her desk and dug out her iPad, then switched the music controls to that device. “Here. You can be in charge of the music today. We need a secret signal if I want you to change a song.”

  He shrugged. “You can just tell me, Sam, change the song please.”

  “Okay, I will.” But she didn’t need to. He selected fun, thoughtful, and appropriate music for the rest of the afternoon, and when they were closing up, she went out of her way to make sure he knew she appreciated him being mindful of their customers.

  But then today, the third time Sam mentioned Will, she was forced to come more explicitly to his defence. Because Sam had gone to a house party the night before—something Catie had done when she was fourteen, but she was still slightly horrified at this baby of a young man doing the same—and it was apparently two doors down from Will’s house.

  Will lived on the outskirts of town, in a newer neighbourhood. The houses were bigger than on Catie’s side of town, more modern, but they were also closer together.

  And Pine Harbour had a noise ordinance.

  When the party was still going at half past eleven last night, Will had apparently come around and told them to turn the music down.

  Catie gave Sam a pained look. “I guess that didn’t go over well?”

  “They thanked him, closed the door, and turned the music up instead.”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head. “Sam!”

  “It was funny.”

  “That is not funny. People are trying to sleep at that hour.”

  “I know. But—”

  “But what?” She propped her hands on her hips, then dropped them. That wasn’t the right approach here. She took a deep breath and tried again. “I remember not liking my high school teachers that much. Feeling like they were always…”

  She trailed off. She didn’t want to put words in Sam’s mouth, and she didn’t want to describe Will in an even more unflattering light than Sam already saw him.

  Ugh.

  Defending Will was the worst thing ever.

  Not as bad as having to listen to a house party rage next door at midnight, of course. But pretty bad.

  “Never mind,” Sam muttered.

  No, that wouldn’t do, either. “I think you probably already know a few other ways that could have gone. You don’t need to tell me what they were, it’s none of my business. But I’m just saying, as one human being to another, it’s never funny when people are mean to each other. Principal Kincaid might be strict, and he might be tough, but he’s not mean, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he call the cops after they cranked the music?”

  Sam shook his head. “No.”

  “I might have.” She wouldn’t. But Frances Schmidt would, and right now, Sam needed a reminder that someone would.

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  “There’s a noise ordinance, and after trying to directly communicate with you? I might think that you need to hear it from the authorities.”

  Sam’s face went white. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh. So next time you think Mr. Kincaid is mean, just remember that he could have been worse, and ask yourself why he wasn’t.”

  She was still thinking about Will marching over to a house party full of his own students and telling them to turn the music down—only for them to turn it up.

  That must have burned his ass. She’d have been so mad. Did Mr. Kincaid get mad? Or was he insufferably calm no matter what, even when disrespected to his face?

  She’d like to see him absolutely lose it on someone. Not a student, or anyone vulnerable. Like on a grown bully. In her fantasy, maybe he would join her secret cabal against the encroaching paid parking program.

  But she’d learned the hard way that Fantasy Will and Real Life Will were not the same person. They looked the same. Dressed the same. But the thoughts inside their handsome, chiseled heads were wildly different.

  Fantasy Will spent a lot of time agreeing with Catie, and complimenting all of her great ideas. Real Life Will grunted dismissively and went out of his way to tack unnecessary corrections onto any praise that might slip out.

  They both came to her rescue, though. A minor point to Real Life Will’s credit. And they both looked good with a smear of grease. Both smelled like Irish Spring, a scent she’d never particularly cared for before, but now found herself considering in the grocery aisle.

  Tonight, however, was not for thinking about Will Kincaid. Real or imaginary. Tonight was for fomenting rebellion—and having a girls’ night. Multitasking. Isla was going to be working late tonight, prepping an extra order for the Canada Day celebration, but Catie didn’t want to leave her friend out of the fun of a secret meeting on the parking situation. So she talked Isla into hosting the gathering. Everyone else was instructed to bring drinks and savoury munchies, as well as their best and brightest and most out of the box ideas for a made-in-Pine Harbour parking solution.

  Bailey was the first to arrive, then Kerry and the other midwife in Kerry’s practice, Jenna Kowalczyk, and Chloe Davis, Jenna’s best friend. Chloe was the town librarian and also married to Tom Minelli, and she brought her sister-in-law, Olivia, who had also spent a few years working for Frank at the diner, just like Catie. Because Pine Harbour was that small.

  Six hundred people.

  Sometimes, she really wondered at herself for coming back here.

  But Isla, Kerry, Jenna, Chloe, and Olivia were all newcomers to town, too. Of the entire group, Bailey Patel was the only one born and bred, a fact that startled the group when Catie corrected Jenna.

  The midwife did a double take. “Wait, I thought you went to school here?”

  “I did. We moved here when I was five.”

  Bailey winked at Catie. “That’s almost the same thing.”

  Almost, but not quite.

  “So do you consider yourself a city girl, or a country girl?” Chloe asked.

  “I don’t know.” Catie thought about it as she stretched her legs out in front of her. “Both, maybe. When I was growing up, I thought I was a city girl, and couldn’t wait to return to it.
But then I did, and it didn’t feel like home, either. I guess I learned that home is where you plant your flag, for better or worse, so I might as well pick a spot and try to make it what I’m looking for.”

  It was a bit of a practiced answer, but one that felt pretty close to the truth.

  The Howe sisters arrived next, bearing a six-pack of beer from Campbell Mills—apparently part of how he paid for his docking fees this month. “This is related to the parking situation,” August said after offering the bottles around.

  January pointed to the home brew. “So, today, Campbell told us that he’s starting a craft brewery. Just down the road from us.” She paused for effect. “On land that will have more than sufficient space for a substantial parking lot. Just like Mac’s has at the diner.”

  “Which puts them at a real advantage compared to businesses that depend on public parking spaces,” August added, her brows pulled tight.

  The marina had a small parking lot on their own land. Tomorrow’s big event would see many more people visiting the harbour than they could accommodate on their own. The town-owned empty lot across from Josh’s garage was on the list of spaces that could be turned into a paid parking lot—and who would want to park there to visit the marina if a craft brewery with free parking was just down the road?

  “In that case, everyone, I think it’s time to pivot our conversation to the crisis at hand.” Catie snagged a mini apple strudel stick from a fresh tray Isla brought out before continuing. “All right. Over the last month, I’ve had individual discussions with each of you about the impact of paid parking on Main Street, and in the town in general. And in addition to this disparity that the Howes just outlined, last weekend something happened to me that really underlined the shortsightedness of this move towards limited parking in general.” She gave a recap of not being able to park at the hiking trail head, and getting lost. She left out the rescue details.

  That wasn’t for public consumption.

  “So what can we do to shift the conversation in a productive way?” Olivia asked. “We’ve proven we can fight back, like we did with the library. But it’s going to require a made-in-Pine Harbour solution.”